LITMIR.BIZ

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I would do when I was a man—by the way, you're quite sure I'm not boring you—?"

      "No, sir—certingly not, sir—indeed, sir!"

      "Take another cigar, Brimberly—oh, put it in your pocket, it will do to—er—to add to your collection! But, as I was saying, as a boy I was full of a godlike ambition—but, as I grew up, ambition and all the noble things it leads to, sickened and died—died of a surfeit of dollars! And to-day I am thirty-five and feel that I can't—that I never shall—do anything worth while—"

      "But, sir," exclaimed Mr. Brimberly with a bland and reassuring smile, "you are one as don't have to do nothing—you're rich!"

      Mr. Ravenslee started.

      "Rich!" he cried, and turning, he glanced at Mr. Brimberly, and his square chin looked so very square and his grey eyes so very piercing that Mr. Brimberly, loosing his whisker, coughed again and shifted his gaze to the Persian rug beneath his feet; yet when Young R. spoke again, his voice was very soft and sleepy.

      "Rich!" he repeated, "yes, that's just the unspeakable hell of it—it's money that has crippled all endeavours and made me what I am! Rich? I'm so rich that my friends are all acquaintances—so rich that I might buy anything in the world except what I most desire—so rich that I am tired of life, the world, and everything in the world, and have been seriously considering a—er—a radical change. It is a comfort to know that we may all of us find oblivion when we so desire."

      "Oblivion!" nodded Mr. Brimberly, mouthing the word sonorously, "oblivion, sir, certingly—my own sentiments exactly, sir—for, though not being a marrying man myself, sir, I regard it with a truly reverent heye and 'umbly suggest that for you such a oblivious change would be—"

      "Brimberly," said Young R., turning to stare in lazy wonder, "where in the world are you getting to now?"

      Mr. Brimberly coughed and touched a whisker with dubious finger.

      "Wasn't you allooding to—hem!—to matrimony, sir?"

      "Matrimony! Lord, no! Hardly so desperate a course as that, Brimberly. I was considering the advisability of—er—this!" And opening a drawer in the escritoire, Young R. held up a revolver, whereat Mr. Brimberly's whiskers showed immediate signs of extreme agitation, and he started to his feet.

      "Mr. Ravenslee, sir—for the love o' Gawd!" he exclaimed, "if it's a choice between the two—try matrimony first, it's so much—so much wholesomer, sir!"

      "Is it, Brimberly? Let me see, there are about five hundred highly dignified matrons in this—er—great city, wholly eager and anxious to wed their daughters to my dollars (and incidentally myself) even if I were the vilest knave or most pitiful piece of doddering antiquity—faugh! Let's hear no more of matrimony."

      "Certingly not, sir!" bowed Mr. Brimberly.

      "And I'm neither mad, Brimberly, nor drunk, only—speaking colloquially—I'm 'on to' myself at last. If my father had only left me fewer millions, I might have been quite a hard-working, useful member of society, for there's good in me, Brimberly. I am occasionally aware of quite noble impulses, but they need some object to bring 'em out. An object—hum!" Here Mr. Ravenslee put away the revolver. "An object to work for, live for, be worthy of!" Here he fell to frowning into the fire again and stared thus so long that at last Mr. Brimberly felt impelled to say:

      "A hobject, of course, sir! A hobject—certingly, sir!" But here he started and turned to stare toward the windows as from the darkness beyond two voices were uplifted in song; two voices these which sang the same tune and words but in two different keys, uncertain voices, now shooting up into heights, now dropping into unplumbable deeps, two shaky voices whose inconsequent quaverings suggested four legs in much the same condition.

      "Brimberly," sighed his master, "what doleful wretches have we here?"

      "Why, sir, I—I rather fancy it's William and James—the footmen, sir," answered Mr. Brimberly between bristling whiskers. "Hexcuse me, sir—I'll go and speak to 'em, sir—"

      "Oh, pray don't trouble yourself, Mr. Brimberly; sit down and hearken! These sad sounds are inspired by deep potations—beer, I fancy. Be seated, Mr. Brimberly."

      Mr. Brimberly obeyed, and being much agitated dropped his cigar and grovelled for it, and it was to be noted thereafter that as the singers drew nearer, he shuffled on his chair with whiskers violently a-twitch, while his eyes goggled more and his domelike brow grew ever moister. But on came the singing footmen and passed full-tongued, wailing out each word with due effect, thus:

      "—my sweet 'eart's—me mother

       The best—the dearest—of—'em all."

      "Hum!" murmured Young R., "I admire the sentiment, Brimberly, but the execution leaves something to be desired, perhaps—"

      "If you'll only let me go out to 'em, sir!" groaned Mr. Brimberly, mopping himself with a very large, exceeding white handkerchief, "if you honly will, sir!"

      "No, Brimberly, no—it would only distress you, besides—hark! their song is ended, and rather abruptly—I rather fancy they have fallen down the terrace steps."

      "And I 'opes," murmured Mr. Brimberly fervently, "I do 'ope as they've broke their necks!"

      "Of course I ought to have gone out and switched on the lights for them," sighed Young R, "but then, you see, I thought they were safe in bed, Brimberly!"

      "Why, sir," said Mr. Brimberly, mopping furiously, "I—I ventured to give 'em a hour's leave of habsence, sir; I ventured so to do, sir, because, sir—"

      "Because you are of rather a venturesome nature, aren't you, Brimberly?"

      "No offence, sir, I 'ope?"

      "None at all, Mr. Brimberly—pray calm yourself and—er—take a little brandy."

      "Sir?"

      "Your glass is under the chair yonder, or is it your friend's?"

      Mr. Brimberly goggled toward Mr. Stevens' betraying glass, picked it up, and sat staring at it in vague and dreamy fashion until, rousing at his master's second bidding, he proceeded to mix brandy and soda, his gaze still profoundly abstracted and his whiskers drooping with an abnormal meekness.

      At this juncture a knock sounded at the door, and a chauffeur appeared, looking very smart in his elegant livery; a thick-set man, mightily deep of chest, whose wide shoulders seemed to fill the doorway, and whose long, gorilla-like arms ended in two powerful hands; his jaw was squarely huge, his nose broad and thick, but beneath his beetling brows blinked two of the mildest blue eyes in the world.

      "What is it, Joe?"

      "And what time will ye be wantin' the car in the mornin', sir?" he enquired.

      "The morning, Joe? Who can say what may happen between now and then?"

      "Shall I have her round at eleven, sir, or—"

      "Eleven will do as well as any other time—let it go at that."

      "You was to see your broker, Mr. Anderson, in the morning over them steamship shares, sir."

      "Shares, Joe, are a vanity; all is vanity—they weary me. Mr. Brimberly yawns, and you look sleepy—good night, Joe; pleasant dreams."

      "Good night, sir!" and touching his right eyebrow, Joe went out, closing the door behind him.

      "And now," said Mr. Ravenslee, puffing languidly at his cigar, "referring to the necessary object, there is a chance that it may be found—even yet, Mr. Brimberly!"

      "Object, sir," murmured Mr. Brimberly, "found, sir—to be sure, sir."

      "Yes; I intend you shall find it for me, Brimberly."

      Mr. Brimberly's abstraction gave place to sudden amaze.

      "Find it—wot, me, sir? Hexcuse me, sir, but did you say—" Mr. Brimberly actually gaped!

      "You,

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